It was only in his own room above his mother's flat in the Rue Richelieu that his heart broke in a storm of furious sobs.
This time there could be no doubt about the state of things; a horrible picture of Nana in Philippe's arms kept rising before his mind's eye.

It struck him in the light of an incest.

When he fancied himself calm again the remembrance of it all would return, and in fresh access of raging jealousy he would throw himself on the bed, biting the coverlet, shouting infamous accusations which maddened him the more.

Thus the day passed.

In order to stay shut up in his room he spoke of having a sick headache.